


The Love Club

by manspirations



Series: Long Live Stackson! [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Best Friends, Inspired by GIFs, Inspired by pictures, M/M, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manspirations/pseuds/manspirations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A picture says a thousand words. Or a couple thousand in this case. Welcome to the Love Club, a collection of Stackson stories inspired by images, gifs, and videos. Standalone chapters. Visuals included.</p><p>Chapter 1-College AU<br/>Chapter 2-Best Friends AU<br/>Chapter 3-Celebrity Couple AU<br/>Coming Soon: Chapter 4- American Football Rivalry AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kitchen Counter

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently obsessed with AUs so, I'll mention it if its canon. Thanks for reading in advance. *hugs*

                                                                           

       

        Contrary to movies, college life was dull. Jackson attended class, suffered through preseason Lacrosse training parties with his teammates, and came home with some loose, vapid guy or girl. Only to have the cycle restart again on Monday. Really, the only good thing about college was living in the best apartments on campus, The Village. Sure, expensive apartments is what you’d expect from a Whittemore but he loved it. Nothing beats waking up in his own room, stepping into a shower that knows only his feet, and having a full kitchen that he doesn’t use.

        The only somewhat downside was his one roommate, Scott McCall, a boy so happy and upbeat he’d make the Wiggles look grim. He padded around their apartment with his floppy smile like a fucking saint, cleaning up forgotten spills and cooking them dinner most nights. Once McCall even restocked his hidden booze collection when he was running low. So-yeah, he was exasperatingly kind but with him came his one silver lining, his best friend, Stiles Stilinski.

         For the longest time, he only heard myths of the ‘awesome bro of a best friend.’ Every week, Scott would linger by his door until he worked up the courage to invite him to some inane place. Like, “Dude, you should hit up this party with Stiles and me tonight! He’s the best!” Jackson refused, planning to go to Danny’s party instead. The one he most regretted was, “Yo, Stiles and his roommates are having an ABC party at their place, stop by if you want.” In hindsight, if he’d known the magnitude of Stiles’s sexiness, he’d been the first person at his ‘Anything But Clothes’ party.

         Unknowingly, their paths crossed on a Monday in September, when the lengthy Starbucks line caused him to be late to his Sociology class. Clutching his now brittle Banana Nut muffin and decaf coffee, he slipped into his professor's one-hundred person lecture hall, fifteen minutes after class began. With no other choice, he slid into the back row, corner seat, quirking his eyebrows at his classmate’s judgmental glares. Like, they’ve never been late to a fucking class.

          His sudden arrival sent a jolt through the dozing guy next to him. Jackson froze, knowing he’d hate it if someone woke him up from a catnap. After a second, he drifted right off to sleep, giving him the perfect opportunity to study his oddly intriguing features. In his peripheral, he caught a discordant splatter of moles dotting up and down his neck. This is why he usually sat in the first row, no distractions. He didn’t learn a damn thing that class or several classes after that, always choosing that same seat. The crazy thing was he always slept. Group discussion? He slept. Pop Quiz? More sleep. It fascinated him but, he never talked to him for some reason. He watched him, albeit creepily, and left before someone eventually woke him up. He spent more energy cataloging his sleep patterns than he did on class. Until, his grades started to fall. When he received that particular email, Scott just happened to strut past him. 

          With a Drake album playing over the apartment, he slumped over on a kitchen stool with his homework spread across the bar. Danny and another girl they met, Lydia, lounged on the couch, working on their ‘never-ending’ Calculus II problem set. He felt a strong urge to check his email and there it was.

_You are receiving this email because your current grade is a 69 or lower. Feel free to visit my office during the specified hours, if you have any questions regarding the current state of your academic standing._

         “Dude, that’s brutal.” Scott muttered behind him in a somber tone. Startled by his sudden appearance, he slammed his laptop shut and spun around, growling at him as Scott chuckled his way into the kitchen. “You know, if you need help. Stiles is brilliant at Sociology. He can help you if you want, of course.” There goes this Stiles guy again, he thought, rolling his eyes.

        “Yeah ok.” It shocked both him and Scott that he agreed. A triumphant beam transformed Scott’s face as he pulled out his phone, probably already texting him.

         “Awesome dude. You won’t be disappointed. I’m texting him now.” Through Scott, he set up a time to meet with Stiles. They choose Wednesday, six pm, third floor study room on the east side of the library. Admittedly, he was nervous about finally meeting the ‘ _Stiles.’_ He was probably as much of a dork as McCall but, at least, he could stop making up stories about this guy. At 5:30, freshly showered from practice, he waltzed into the library with his books and enough Chinese takeout for two.

         He waited over two hours for Stiles, nibbling on his processed dinner as he caught up on old readings. Stiles never showed. Fuming, he packed up at 7:30 and stalked out the room. On his way out, he caught sight of sleepy guy snoozing in a study room by the staircase. He chuckled, shaking his head at him as if his sleeping was an inside joke they shared. He trudged back to their apartment wearing a private smile, in spite of Stiles’s disappearing act. The second he sealed himself away from their buzzing streets, he headed for his room, only stopping to place his leftover Chinese in front of McCall’s door. For some reason, Scott iced him out after that. He frowned whenever they passed each other, started cooking for one, and stopped inviting him to places.

        Whatever, he decided he didn’t need McCall and his mysterious friend. He hung out with Danny and the team and occasionally Lydia whenever she deemed him good enough to talk too. Unfortunately, that also meant he started sitting up front again. Without Stiles’s help, he raised his grade the hard way, meaning he no longer saw hot sleeping guy. Life went on and his grades rose steadily.

        The day before Thanksgiving break, coach rode them harder than ever. Afterwards, when everyone usually went out for grub, they all slinked off to their rooms. He and Danny split ways once they reached the divide between their buildings. Taking the steps one by one, he groaned as his favorite cotton maroon V-neck rubbed against his bruised abdomen. At least, Scott had a five o’clock class on Thursdays, leaving the apartment deliciously empty. Or so he thought.

        Twisting the key in the hole, he stumbled through the door. Sleep guy lounged on his kitchen counter and munched on his Cheetos Puffs. HIS chips. In HIS apartment. Oh god, the moisture evaporated from his mouth, leaving nothing but a gape on his tongue. Upon seeing Jackson, Sleep guy froze with a chip halfway to his mouth. They stared at one another as he tried to figure out what happened to his life. Just to be sure, he backtracked out the door, checking their apartment number. Yep, Apartment 331.

         “Uhh…” Tongue-tied, in the way only sleep guy made him, he reluctantly closed the door with his foot. He wanted nothing more than to slip off to his room and seal himself away from the ridiculously sexy stranger on his counter. Then again, there was the whole problem of… the ridiculously sexy stranger on his counter. He watched a slow, secretive smirk sweep across his face and holy shit, someone could craft volumes of poetry based on his smile. It almost made him forget about his half-empty bag of chips. Almost. Snapping out of the trance, he dumped his bags by the couch then swaggered into the kitchen “You owe me a bag of Cheetos.” He snarked, leaning back against the counter opposite him with his arms folded defensively over his chest. 

         Purposefully pulling out a chip, Stiles lowered the damn thing down his throat. Jackson gulped, not even attempting to will his growing erection away. “Or we can call it even since you left me waiting at the library a few months ago. You _are_  the infamous Jackson he's always droning on about, right? Cause if you're not, I have a Taser and I know how to use it.” Too bad, his rambling was fucking annoyingly. Jackson groaned, surprised he hadn’t already done a 180 out of the room.

          “Left you?” He smirked, slowly decreasing the open space between them. Now, it was his turn to return the favor. Stiles's hands vibrated the closer he grew. “I’ve never even…fuck.” His body cemented in place as the realization smacked him against the head. “You’re Stiles?”

         “One and Only.” He gestured up his body with his cheesy hands. “Which in my case is probably true.” Stiles preened, swinging his dangling legs against the counter. Putting a personality and a name to the boy, he’s been admiring all this time is fucking with his brain. He expected him to be a loner who listened to pop punk, and only spoke when absolutely needed. Not this spunky thing in front of him. “You look like I’ve shattered your dreams.” 

         “I’m tryna find a nice way to call you an idiot. You were sleeping on the west side of the library.” He said, smirking at Stiles’s cute little gasp. He wanted desperately to bite down on his flushed embarrassed cheek.

          “Oh..sorry 'bout that. When you work two jobs, take 7 classes, and have baseball conditioning, life gets a little fuzzy.”

          “It's all good. You can make it up to me.” He slinked the last few steps, several inches away from the warmth of Stiles’s body. Stiles grinned down at him, raising an anticipatory brow.

         “With chips?” Stiles murmured, his guttural tone pulling him the rest of the way. His hands settled over Stiles’s, boxing in his lithe body, as his hip settled against his jean-clad knee.

          “And a date.” He whispered back. His proposal floated between their heads as he locked eyes on his lips.

          “I can do that.” Brushing their noses together, Stiles grinned to himself. The cloying air tightened his muscles even further as time stood still. Neither moved. It felt surreal that he was here, breathing the same air with Stiles. Although he wanted nothing more than to wrap those strong legs around his waist and cart him off to his room, he also craved this playful game of who was going to give in first. He tracked his tongue as it unhurriedly moistened his bottom lip, leaving an alluring gloss in its wake. God, he thirsted for him. No one at this school affected him quite like Stiles. That sounded cliché but he’s been with several people on this campus. An entire one night stand with them didn’t register on the same scale with one almost kiss with Stiles. He sucked in a breath, when Stiles jerked forward, trailing his nose along his neck. He inhaled right under his jaw, where the lingering scent of his body scrub was the strongest. “This might sound weird but, you smell really familiar.” Stiles muttered, caressing his skin with light kisses. Before he had a chance to inform him about their shared class, the front lock clicked. Wide-eyed and frantic, Stiles pushed him away. Chuckling, he pretended to peruse the contents of their fridge, trying his hardest to reign in his smile.

           “Stiles, she said ye-!” Scott burst through the apartment. He halted when he caught Jackson in the kitchen, conveniently sipping from his carton of milk. “Oh hey, dude. I hope you don’t mind that I let him wait here. He can be a bit much.”

        “Hey! I’m sitting right here!” Stiles protested, locking his arm petulantly over his chest. He lingered on his surprisingly impressive muscles bulging through his striped sweater. He must have stared too long because Stiles kicked his shin causing milk to spew from his mouth.

          “It’s all good.” He choked, ignoring Scott’s calculating gaze. “I should actually get packin. Nice talkin to you, Stiles.” As he threw away the empty carton, he didn’t dare sneak another glance.

          “Uh...yeah, you too, Jackson.” He heard just before his door closed. Knowing they’d gossip about him, he kept his ear peeled to the door.

          “What did you do?”

          “Nothing.” Stiles's gasp was actually convincing. Not that it fooled Scott. 

         “Seriously?” Scott groaned. He heard his heavy footsteps sound across the tiled floor. “Out of all the freaking guys here, you picked the one that I have to live with for the next two years. Why him?”

         “Cause he’s the hottest fucking guy I've seen on this campus and you conveniently forgot to mention that. And he smells really freaking good, which is freaking me out a little. AND, his personality isn’t for shit like all the other lacrosse douches around here so yes, I pick him. Besides, you don’t _have_ to live with him for the next two years. Leases are breakable.”

          “Yeah. If you pay like five hundred dollars. Do I look like I have that kind of money if this ends badly?”

         “Calm down, ya big baby. It’ll be fine. Now, tell me about this girl.” Then, the conversation veered away from him. After hearing what Stiles thought of him, he had to force himself to pack. Scott be damned. He almost went out there and drugged Stiles away, at least twice over the course of the night. He promised himself that before he was going to kiss him after he gave him his number.

 

* * *

 

        Only one more class and then he, Lydia, Danny, some of their teammates and their girlfriends were off to Vail Colorado, the best skiing destination according to Lydia’s mom. Of course, he practically skipped to Sociology, eager to see Stiles. Even if it was a dreamy Stiles, he didn’t care. As the previous class pilled out, their massive class piled in, talking among themselves. He was stuck between wanting to get his seat upfront and waiting for Stiles to show. Two minutes before their professor entered and he’d yet to see him. Today, being the day of their final test was not the day to slack, so he reluctantly took the steps down to his row. An asshole wearing a beanie had the nerve to sit in his seat. Agitated, he slipped through the narrow aisle of long legs and reclined chairs to snatch the chair next to his.

        “You know. I hear being late is frowned upon.”

       A grin broke out over this face as he snapped towards Stiles, actually cognizant and sitting next to him. “So, is sleeping in class.” He responded, pivoting fully in his chair so that his knees graved Stiles's legs.

       “Yeah well, when you’re grade is fourteen points higher than the maximum, you’re not really required to participate in class discussion.”

       “Is that so?” He chuckled, leaning against the divide that separated their two chairs.

       “Yep. Try not to cheat on my paper. I know how your eyes like to wander.”  _Ahhh, he did remember._

       “I only stare at things worth my time.” He bantered back, dropping his scantron and number two pencil on his desk.

      “Good to know." He smirked, using his pencil eraser to draw shapes into Jackson's thigh. A slow, liquid shiver rippled through him as his pencil inched dangerously close to his zipper. "What time are you leaving for break?”

       “Three. Why?” He grunted, controlling himself as he pushed closer into Stiles’s space, gliding his nose against his smooth cheek. 

       “Just enough time to give you a tour of _my_ apartment. I have this radiant granite countertop in my kitchen that you’d really enjoy. Sturdy enough for…kitchen-like duties.” His gaze trailed over Jackson's body. He'd miss the trip all together to see that look again. 

         “I can’t pass that up now, can I?” His lips brushed over Stiles’s, ready to take what was his, when they were cockblocked _again._

         “Mr. Stilinski.” Their professor’s voice, heightened by the microphone, shot over the grand lecture hall. Their entire class focus on them. “Glad to see you've gotten a decent nights rest. If you’re done, I’d like you to lead today’s review session.” Everyone snickered as Stiles reddened from the mortification of being called out. He patted his thigh apologetically, hiding his own merriment behind a fist.

         “This is why I sleep.”

         “With good reason. We’re waiting, Mr. 114.” He winked, leaning back against the chair, one brow perfectly arched. 

         Stiles glared at him but, eased to the front of the class anyway. He watched his cute, round bottom as he went. Yeah, he was so fucking him before he left. Multiple times. In several positions. Starting with Stiles’s legs tightly wrapped around him as he gripped the counter.


	2. Tonight is the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday nights were their junk-eating, movie-watching, internet-trolling, video-game-playing nights and he lived for them. Best bros AU.

         “Evening. Miss W," Stiles called out the moment he stumbled into his best friend's house. A hushed sigh emanated from the front office as he struggled to yank his key out of the hole without breaking it. _Ahaa!_ He celebrated. A jiggle to the left and then a jiggle to the right and the gold-painted bastard slid from the clutches of their evil lock. Thankfully, turning the lock from the inside didn’t demand a full workout.

      He pushed through the dark house with ease, stopping at the only illuminated room downstairs. “Hard case?” he asked, leaning against the threshold of the glass double doors. She slid her hand through glossy brown shoulder-length hair. Stiles caught her tired smile behind an over-flowing glass of Pinot Gris. Judging by the thickness of her lawyer brief, he’d guess Pro Bono or Corporate. The smaller cases only warranted half a glass of Pinot. He chuckled, “Ahhh. Say no more. We’ll keep it down.” She worked too hard without them causing ruckus. 

          “No need. I'm almost done here anyway. I'm surprised he didn't tell you I have a date tonight.” _He did three nights ago when they were staring up at the ceiling during the middle of the night._ Stiles acted pleasantly surprised anyway. She set her glass down. “You know, Stiles. It’s customary to knock before entering someone’s home. Key or not.”

          He laughed, throwing his head back. “But, this might as well be my home, right? I sleep here all the time and bring you dinner to the office when he forgets and do the errands that he never does. I’m basically your son, Miss W. Well, a better version of the son you already have. Really, you should be thanking my existence. If it weren-”

        A booming shout intrupted him.  “Stop bothering my mom and get up here.” They snapped at the bellow pouring through the house. _Always with the dramatics that one_. 

          “Looks like I’m being summoned. Have fun with your adult life, Miss W," he said, clutching onto their Wal-Mart bags.

          “Goodbye Stiles," she sighed. "You two don’t stay up there all night! You’re seventeen. Act like it.” Her shout trailed behind him when he conquered the stairs, three at a time. Saturdays were designated for whatever party Jackson dragged him (and by association Scott, Allison, and Isaac) to. Stiles hated Saturdays. But Fridays? Friday nights were their junk-eating, movie-watching, internet-trolling, video-game-playing nights and he lived for them. They were the highlight of his weekend. Jackson thought so too. He’d just never give Stiles the satisfaction.

         “Yo Jackass. What up?” were his first words as he fell back against the bed he’d slept in so many times. Other than a scoff and a lip quirk, Jacks ignored him in favor of his laptop. Stiles’s eyes roamed, against his will, over his shirtless frame. More and more these days, he found his eyes lingering over the cut veins in his built shoulders or the low dip of his lower back or his eight pack. He almost missed the days when Jackson was as gangly as him. Naw. That was a lie. He watched his abs flexed against the comforter, just asking to be licked.

          NO. He forced himself away from that thought. This was his best friend. His main man. His compadre. They've been inseparable since preschool when he and Jackson fought over the last fruit snacks package at the grocery store and their moms decided they'd split them or else they'd stay on the shelves for some other kid. You don't ruin that kind of friendship with hot desire, right? "Here. For you." He cleared his throat and throwing Jackson's gray plastic bag over to his side. "And for me." He emptied the contents of his bag on the navy blue comforter. 

        Leaning away from his computer, Jacks rummaged through all his favorite foods. Stiles knew the second he caught the white Pepperridge Farm: White Chocolate Macadamia Nut cookies at the bottom. "The hell?" He gasped, flipping the package between his sinewy hands. "How the hell did you find these? Danny and Lydia searched the entire store and they were out." Stiles hid his blush at the rare look of wonder Jackson shot him. That's the last thing he needed right now. He covered up his feels with wit, the Stilinski special. 

        "That's cause I'm better than them." _Really, he drove to the next town over. Forty minutes away._ "You should just drop them for me all together. I mean, whose smile is that perfect and have you seen those skirts? Evil." 

        "Don't be jealous." Jackson rolled his eyes, trying to tear the package open with his stumpy nails. "I'm not jealous of that loser with the breathing problem."

        "First, his name is Scott. You know this. Second, asthma is a serious condition that affects millions of children a year. Rude." He plucked the rumpled package from his hand. He felt Jackson's hand brush against his long after he pulled away. "Third, stop actin like you don't still hate him for stealing the seat next to mine in fifth grade."

       "Whatever. He's an idiot."

 _"Oh my god. Just fuck each other already."_ High-pitched voices definitely not his own or Jackson's resonated from his laptop speakers. Startled, he jumped, pulling the screen towards him. Several girls their age giggled on the screen in their pj's. It's been months since they Omegle'd. 

       "Asshole. You started without me?" His palm thwacked against Jackson's beefy leg, a testament to how long they've been friends. Anybody else and Jackson would have bloody murdered them even with four witnesses. "Hi ladies. I'm Stiles."

       "Are you the boyfriend?" The one in the middle asked, her hair bobbing in a loose ball on top of her head. Jackson settled in next to him, lying back on his stomach. 

       "More like best friend." He responded, giving them his best charismatic smile. They gagged and waved his admission away.

       "Boooo. That's boring."

       "For real."

       "Give us something good." 

       "Yeahhhh. Like a kiss." 

       "OMG. That'd be so hot."

       "Or you can suck his dick. That'd be cool too." 

       "Seriously. Best friends can suck each others' dick." 

       "Yeah, it happens in porn all the time." 

He choked on a sip of Sprite, his face blotching redder by the second. He shot Jackson a judging glance for finding the horniest girls in all of Omegle. What did these girls think this was? They'd watch one too many videos on Porn Hub. Jacks stared back with an unreadable glint. Horny chicks he could handle. Jackson roaming his intense blue eyes over his face? Not so much. Feeling uncomfortable in his own skin, he shifted on the bed. His skin underneath all his layers prickled with warm heat. 

      "Sorry ladies. We're not about that life." Except they were because after years of pretending Jackson didn't feel like the David Burtka to his Neil Patrick Harris, his best friend pulled him into a fast kiss.

* * *

       One minute, these horny bitches were talking about dicks and the next his hands were cradling Stiles's smooth skin and reeling him in for a kiss. He blamed this on Danny for planting the idea of them together for the past few months. Telling him things he's known for years. Like, how Stiles's lips always part slightly when he's in deep concentration, nervous, or confused. Or, how he, regardless of where they are or what they're doing, will always feast his eyes on Stiles's mouth whenever he licks languidly over his bottom lip. Yeah, he blamed Danny for everything. He blamed him for Stiles stumbling in here with his favorite cookies and those unlawfully tight khakis. He blamed him for Stiles's hardened gaze appreciating his body whenever he doesn't think he'll get caught. He even blamed him for how soft Stiles lips are, as they move against his. 

      In his peripheral, he caught sight of their audience, them practically slobbering on the screen. He'd disconnect the line, if his hands weren't dragging under Stiles's shirt right now. A moan from Stiles's mouth vibrates inside of him. Its the same moan he's only heard faintly behind bathroom walls. Guttural and deep.Needing more of everything, Jackson pushed him back against the covers. Before their tiny gasps and hushed mutterings ruined their moment, he shoved the screen of his laptop down, leaving them alone in a room they've spent so much time in. He deepened the kiss while rustling with the buttons on Stiles's favorite button down plaid. If Stiles didn't wear it every chance he got, he'd scatter those buttons across his dark blue shag carpet. "Wait. Wait." Stiles pushed back against his chest, breathing heavy and fast. Jackson panting just as fast, stared down at him with heavy lids. "What the fuck?!" He punched him square on the shoulder. Unlike the hit from earlier, this one actually stung. _Fuck._ He muttered, knowing a bruise would resurface in a few hours. "Dude. You're still with Lydia." 

      "Don't call me dude." He gritted, his voice a hint too gravelly. Stiles glared up at him, quirking an eyebrow, like they weren't just rutting against one another like a middle schooler who realized it feels good to rub your dick against a pillow.  "What? It's weird. I don't like it."

      "Jacks. You're not even gay. or bi. or pansexual. Fuck, you're not anything but Lydia-sexual. Oh god. This is bad. Very very bad. She's going to kill me. Murder me in my sleep with a spoon she stopped to get from _my_  kitchen. And on my headstone in some random town out in Nebraska or Wyoming, cause no way would she let you bury me anywhere near you, she's going to inscribe something humiliating like, 'here lies a homewrecker.' Shit. This is bad. Get off of me, you big goon." He pushed and pushed, flailing underneath him, but Jackson didn't budge. His arms locked tighter around him. "Hellooo. Let me up before her sixth sense walks her right through that door."

       "Stop being an idiot. She knows tonight's our night."  _Their night._ It sounds so different now. Staring down at Stiles's pink, bruised mouth, he decided that he likes it. 

       "That's even worse. She trusts me with her boyfriend. That I just made out with. In front of a bunch of girls." He rambled on and on, creating more theories on why they'll die a horrible death. If he weren't used to years of this torture, he'd kill Stiles himself. Tired of all his yammering, he shut him up. Stiles's words muffled as he captured him in another kiss. Conflicted between his brain and his body, Stiles grabbed his neck to pull him closer as he arched up against him. That's more like it. His body scorched from the heat of Stiles's mouth sucking on his neck. He tilted up, giving him more room. Being with Lydia was fun, sure but never was it like this. She only gave as a reward. Stiles, eagerly, suckled kisses down his neck. "You're distracting me." He murmured, his lips painting heat against his skin. He pushed away again and Jackson rolled over defeated. "This is wrong, J." He whispered into the awkward silence of his room. 

       "Since when do we have morals? Just yesterday, we broke into your dad's office to erase one voicemail so he wouldn't find out you got detention three times this week."

       "Hey! Harris hates me and this is different. This is...you and me we're talking about. We can't just-" _  
_

"What if I break up with her?" He interrupted him, leaning up on his elbows. "She's been eye fucking one of the twins anyway."

       Stiles actually laughed at him. Hilarious tears streamed down his face, head rolling to the side laughter. He frowned. "You're gonna break up with Lydia Martin? The hottest, smartest girl in school? That you've pined after for yearsss? Just to kiss me for one night cause some girls got you all hot and bothered?"

       "You're doing that idiot thing again. The thought of me sucking your dick got me all " _hot and bothered._ " Having long lost his filter around Stiles, his gaze trailed over the bulge stretching the fabric of Stiles's pants. Yeah, he could definitely get behind that. Stiles gulped. As his lips parted, Jackson knew he was won this fight. "And it's not just for one night."

       "I...I...know you better than you know yourself. You'd get all mopey without your catty high school domination and shopping sprees." He stammered, adjusting himself shamelessly. On some level, Stiles was probably speaking truth but he wanted Stiles a hell of a lot more than he ever wanted her. That thought drove him to reach over and call the second most recent number. 

  "Why are you calling me? I thought you were with Stiles."Her voice spilled through the speakers and he smirked. 

      "I am. We need to break up."

"Fine with me." She agreed almost before he finished his statement. "Why now?" Silence. He looked to Stiles for an answer. His best friend, a million levels passed bewildered, shrugged his shoulders.  **"Eww.** Are you two like in bed right now?" In the background, Danny begged to know what's going on."That's terrible form, Jackson. Most people wait like three months before they admit to cheating." 

      "We didn't cheat!" Stiles screeched, gaining control of his voice again. He fit their bodies together to reach the phone. That worked for him, Jackson chuckled, letting Stiles's clothed dick rub against his ass. Pressing back with a suppressed moan, he almost forgot Lydia and Danny were still on the phone. 

      "Ugh. We can hear the sexual tension through the phone. You're both officially excused from my party to get rid of that before our shopping trip on Sunday. Yes, Stiles, you will be in attendance and we will fix your horrible taste in... everything. Unless you want everyone to know how distraught I am that you fucked my boyfriend on every sturdy surface in his house on the eve of my birthday."

        _It's her birthday tomorrow?_  Stiles mouthed and he nodded, confirming her statement. Groaning, Stiles flopped back against the covers. 

       "Great. I'm glad we're in agreement. Wrap it before you slap it, love birds."

       "Bye. Do everything I would do!" Danny snuck in before the phone disconnected. Smiling, he stared at his phone until the back-light automatically toggled off. Setting his phone back on his night stand, he rolled over to face Stiles. Yeah, they were just rolling in his bed but, something felt different now. Heavier. His breathing staggered as Stiles slid closer and closer to his side. His eyes only strayed from Stiles's once to find his the last clasped button on his shirt. Triumphantly, he peeled the hideous fabric back and tossed it lightly on his desk behind them. Lydia's clothes never made it that far, always landing on the floor next to his and Stiles's combined dirty clothes. Kinda like Stiles's white undershirt that landed just before the desk.  

      "I still can't believe you did that." Stiles brushed over his lips. He was so done with talking about anyone outside of this room. He reused his new favorite of shutting him up. This time, Stiles didn't dare speak a word about horrible this might turn out. He did grunt and moan for more which Jackson was 520% ok with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)


	3. The Boyfriend Tag.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally. They get to see each other and the first thing they do is a twitcam? I guess its all about the fans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is based off a video (down below). Some info:  
> 1\. Jackson is a famous actor. Like a young Matthew McConaughey.  
> 2\. Stiles is a big EDM DJ/producer like Avicii.  
> 3\. He tours with Scott and Isaac (both DJs.) Together, they form a group like Swedish House Mafia.
> 
> EDIT: April 27, 2015  
> *My original video was deleted. *tears* However, I also had inspiration from my loves, Mark and Ethan. (If you don't know Methan... umm unacceptable. [Treat Yo' Self to Methan](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCFtL-Sj2lRM9W3WPF1gt3-Q))

* * *

 

        Four months, two weeks, and three days. That's how long it's been since he last held Stiles **,** made love to Stiles, and binged watched Netflix with Stiles while wearing nothing but briefs to shield their butts from their scratchy, too expensive couch. All this time between them and the first thing, they do is a dumb livestream. He thinks not.

        “Come on it’ll be fun and I promised them months ago.” Stiles pleaded again for the eighth time since they left the arena. Clutching his hand, Stiles led him through the thumping halls of his artist's vacation home. Their hands slicked with sweat since someone was too excited to shower in his dressing room. “Jacksonnn.” He begged, seconds away from falling to his knees. “Afterwards, we can take a long steamy shower and you can fuck me up against the wall like I know you want to and then we can steal Scotty’s leftover pizza, lay in bed, and you can fangirl about working with Fassbender and I won’t get jealous. Too much.” He added as an afterthought. As if he would rejected that offer. Stiles shimmied through his bedroom door. “Yes!” He smacked a wet kiss on his cheek. “Seriously. I love you. Tweet your peeps about it. Tell them thirty minutes and link them to me.”

       Jackson stretched back against the couch to watch Stiles’s fiddle with the Twitcam website. He glanced around the gray walls and sleek furniture of Stiles’s room. In front of him, Stiles wiggled to the beats thumping just outside of their room. Months without seeing that booty in his face and they decided to do a video thing. Just perfect. This moment was a testament to how much he loved him.

       “I got it! With three minutes to spare and we already we have 94,000 people. Boss.” He cheered, swiveling away from the computer and towards him and the couch. “You should just bow to me.” He said, gliding over to the couch. Jackson watched him move, still slim and lanky as he was in high school. Except now, he held himself with more grace, all smooth strides. He tilted his head to keep his eyes on Stiles as he grew closer, loving the goofy smile on his face.

       “I’ll do _something_ to you.” He muttered, reaching out to yank him the rest of the last few inches to the couch. Stiles fell on top of him with a giggle. Knowing they only had a couple minutes, he kissed him anyway. Stiles, always so responsive, moaned as he arched into him. “God, I’ve missed you.” He murmured, when breathing became a necessity. Stiles rested his forehead head against his; a soft smile spread across his face. Beads of sweat still clinging on from his concert smeared across their temple. Anyone else and he would have found that outrageously disgusting.

        Stiles peppered a few last kiss around his mouth before pulling back. “Save it for the shower.” Jackson smirked, ready to end this thing. Sitting up, Stiles pressed against his right side with one leg on the couch and an arm stretched behind him. He looked naturally comfortably, whereas Jackson felt like a dead log in the forest. His limbs solidified, freezing in place. He talked to fans for a living. How was this different? After a deep breath, he forced himself to relax. Without think about it, he placed a hand on Stiles’s thigh.  

        “Ready?” Stiles asked, reaching his hands towards his laptop. He nodded succinctly and Stiles pressed the spacebar, commencing the webcast. A tiny red circle appeared on the screen and suddenly they weren’t so alone. “Hey guys! Can you see me?” He danced to the beat seeping through the vents. “Stiles here. I’m too excited right now. Are you excited?” Stiles rotated to look at him. He gave his most charismatic to their fans.

        “I am. Maybe not as much as you though.”

        “Yeah, well you know me. So… Scotty, Isaac, and I usually put up a Tour Diaries vid today **but** tonight is super special cause someone surprised little old me today in Amsterdam. And, my peeps have been begging us to do the Boyfriend Tag for months but we’ve been soooo busy. It’s all good, though. I’m here. He’s here. You’re here. So why the hell not? Without further ado, meet my incredible boyfriend, Jackson. Say hi to the camera, baby.”

        “Baby? Really?” He questioned, smirking at the mole closest to his mouth. Stiles blinded them all with his genuinely enthusiastic smile.

        “What? I call you baby all the time.”

        “I know- Just…” _Never in front of a camera. Ever._ The thump of the music filled in the silence as they grinned at one another. “Nevermind. What’s up guys? Sorry if you can hear the music. They’re having a big after party out there. Like, the hundreds of thousands of people grinding on each other before this wasn’t enough.”

        “That’s just how we do things ‘round here, old man. Work hard. Play hard.” He patted his shoulder playfully. “So, we wanted to be different and do a Twitcam instead of a YouTube video because we’re the best. I’ll read a question from the tag list and we’ll answer it and then he’ll read one of your questions and we’ll answer that. And, we can just do this until one of us gets super tired and then we all go to bed. Cool?” Jackson peered at the screen, scrolling through the fast responses.

        “Cottonelle_my_tree says ‘cool.’” He chuckled. “Is there a way I can like look at these on my phone? My neck’s gonna be killer after this.” He asked, still new to this whole webcast. Laughing at his ineptness, Stiles handed him his iPad and pulled up the website. On the smaller screen, the laptop camera looked at him as he looked down at the iPad in his hand. Trippy. “Ok. I’m ready.”

        “First question. Where did we meet? You can start.” He offered, turning towards him as he imagined all 217,000 people on the webcast doing.

        “Uhh…that’s hard.” He smacked his lips, hoping the answer would beam into his head. “Well, we’ve actually known each other our whole lives. We grew up in the same sleepy town. Went to school together all the way up to high school.”

        “But we weren’t friends.” Stiles chimed in, setting the record straight. “In fact, we HATED each other. Like, archenemies hated. He was a poo-poo head.”

        “And, you were annoying as hell. When you and the other two stooges went backpacking across Europe after graduation, Danny and I threw a party.”

        “Shut up. You did not!” Stiles gasped, smacking him upside the head. “Ugh. You see how we didn’t get along. Rude. About three/four years later and we ran into each other at a party. A friend of Isaac’s asked me to play her Oscar’s after party. Of course, I said ‘hell yea.’ Guess who strode in looking all sexy and shit. Wait, you guys don’t mind if we just let loose a bit yeah?” He turned for an answer and Jackson shrugged. “Anyway, it was really weird cause I was living overseas and didn’t have much time for movies and stuff. I had no idea he was this big hot movie star with multiple Oscars. We kept making awkward eye contact the entire night. And, finally on the last song, he swaggered over to my booth and yelled, ‘damn, Stilinski, look at you.’”

        “As they say, the rest is history.” He finished, grinning smugly at the screen. “but really, we grabbed a drink and I didn’t want to jab him in the eye with a toothpick.”

        “Aww. You so nice to me.” Stiles, scrunching his face, brushed his nose back and forth over Jackson’s jaw. “Alright. It’s your turn. Question away, my little babies. Oh we forgot to say. If we read your question, you’ll get something from us so watch out for a DM. Ok. I’m done now. Promise. Read us a question, good sir!”

        “You’re so weird.” Jackson chuckled, scrolling through the feed for a question. The comments and question flew across the screen so quickly he caught only a few words from each. “Its going so fas-oh here’s one. @Bullentide asked ‘How are you making a long distance relationship work? PS. Fucking incredible show tonight.” He set the ipad down on the couch and pivoted towards Stiles.

        “Yes!! It was freaking ridiculous, right? Love you, Bullentide. Thanks for coming!” Stiles winked at the screen as he threw his legs over Jackson’s lap. He cupped his ankle, caressing circles into his skin. “How do we make it work?” Stiles peered at him.

        “Skype and late night phone calls and random visits whenever we’re not home.” Stiles gave a fake yawn during his question. “Shut up.” He knocked him off the couch. “I’m new at this y’all. Be nice to me.” Jackson grunted, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “Fine. Smarty pants. What else do we do?”

        “We have lots of sex when we _are_ together.” Stiles yelled flopping half onto the cushion with his torso pressed against Jackson’s leg. He erupted in a nervous cough as Stiles wiggled his eyes suggestively at the camera. Could they even talk about this? Unlike Stiles who only admitted 21 and older in his shows, a good portion of his fan base were screaming girls between the ages of 15-17 (ugh, thank you Nicholas Sparks.) Comments flew across the feed like **_hell yea_** and **_sex tape_**. He shot an accusing eye at Stiles. “What?” He poked his lowest right ab through his thin shirt. He suppressed the groan shooting up his throat. “We’re all adults here, right? If not, it’s passed your bedtime, my delicate flowers. Thanks again, Bullentide!”

        Shifting his bottom uncomfortably over the farting brown leather, he shook his head at his baby. Stiles preened under his dry gaze, tilting his head victoriously towards the ceiling. “Alright. Next. @youdamned wants to know, ‘where and how was our first date?’ Oh god. Can we not? Sorry, @youdamned. Not today.” He laughed over Stiles’s excited exclamations.

        “Oh no. You know we’re telling this story. Jackson made our first date the worst.” Screaming protest, he forced his hand over Stiles’s mouth. In retaliation, Stiles tickled him on the side of his rib. He last about five seconds before combusting with frantic laughter. Panting for a breath, he yielded. “It works every time. Also yes, we’re 26 and still have tickle wars. Don’t judge.” They righted themselves. “Where were we? Oh. Right. First date. Ok, here’s the story. We both realized we were obsessed with the comedian Dane Cook back in High School and this was around the time he was having his reunion tour. I buy us tickets for the first row, make reservations on this fancy yacht restaurant, even planned for a little night cap, you know, if things went exceptionally well. Just doing the most for my new boo.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the same time Jackson palmed his forehead. “This asshole forgot about the whole damn date. I call him, standing alone outside the theater and he’s at home, eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and watching Portlandia.”

        “I apologized like eight times AND I still came.”

        “Yeah, thirty-five minutes later, wearing sweats and a dribble of chocolate on your collar.” Stiles tossed the camera a judging ‘this-is-who-you-voted-sexiest-man-alive-last-year’ look. He earned that title. ( _no, not at all)._

        “Would you rather I’d have taken my sweet time and got all dolled up for you?” He whipped back at him, smirking. They’ve had this argument countless times before. He nuzzled his jaw, wiping away his reminiscing sour expression. “besides, it wasn’t all bad. I had a suit in my trunk from that one photo-shoot.”

        “But, we lost our reservation cause you HAD to change in McDonalds where we spent like an hour signing autographs and taking pictures. Which I love doing. Don’t get me wrong. If I could spend every day just chilling with you guys, I would but when I’m on a date with a guy eight million times sexier than me? I just want to embarrass myself in private.” Jackson’s probably the only one who noticed but, Stiles’s shoulders began to compress, making his broad shoulders resemble twiggy branch limbs.

        “Shut up. I’m not sexier than you.”

        “America begs to differ.”

        “Well, America doesn’t love you half as much as I do.”

        Stiles stared at him with a hooded desire a beat too long and he almost thought he’d press the red disconnect button. “Right.” Stiles cleared his throat, brushing away the growing tension in the air. “Next question.” He broke eye contact to scroll through the question list on his phone. “How long have we been together? Our four-year anniversary is coming up in a month. Next question.”

        “Ok. Um…@CaseyCarlisle wants to know ‘what is the cutest thing you found out about each other?’ Oh this is easy. We’ll go grocery shopping and he goes hardcore veggie and healthy foods. But, the second we put it away, he orders delivery.” 

        “It’s true. I try so hard to healthy.” Stiles barks a laugh. “I like your cute little feet. Have you guys seen his feet? You have to show them your feet.” Stiles grabbed his pants leg before his brain caught up with his eyes.

        “No.” He tried to pull away but, he’d already stripped off his shoe and sock. Jackson groaned/growled as Stiles held his goddamn foot in front of the camera. “Stiles. They’re gonna think we’re weird.”

        “We are weird. Aren’t they so cute? I could just nom on them forever.” Stiles mouthed at his wiggling toes, like thousand of people weren't watching this right now. He wanted the couch to swallow him whole. It didn’t help that Stiles kneaded circles into his heel. “Look at his little pinky toe. So tiny.” 

        “Stilessss…”

        “Fine. Fine. Thanks Casey.” Finally, he released him. Jackson didn’t bother to put on his shoes. He unearthed his other foot too and hid them under his thighs in crisscross applesauce formation. “My turn?” After the foot incident, things took a turn for the boring. They answered a question about their first kiss, to which neither of them remembered. The entire first year of their relationship was a blur of arguments, make up sex, and progressively horrible dates in his mind. With each question, they relaxed further against the couch until he was laying on his stomach with his head resting against Stiles’s thigh. Question after Question, he gave a quick response, held his growing impatient thoughts, and let Stiles do most of the talking.

 

Q: Do you shower together?

A: We’re very environmentally friendly.

T: _(duh. Of course, we shower together.)_

_-_

Q: Who wears the pants in the relationship?

A: Neither of us.

T: _(why wear pants if you don’t have too?)_

_-_

Q: What is something I do that you wish I didn’t?

A:  Nope. Not touching that one.

T: _(Not unless, I want to sleep on the couch.)_

 

         Despite his droopy eyes, Stiles and their combined 251 thousand fans chatted and laughed around him. With Stiles tracing his name into his shoulders, his eyes drifted shut. He startled awake when Stiles rose from under him. He wasn’t out for long because the chat was still rolling. The small viewer count lowered to just under 100,000. Didn’t they have something better to do than talk to them? Really, out of all the celebrity couples out there, he and Stiles were probably the most boring.

         “Hey. I’m going to get Isaac. He’s going to show us how to do the video chatty thing. Be right back.” He smacked a kiss on his temple and rushed out the room. The music pulsated into the room when he threw open the door. Having no other choice, he rose into an actual sitting position.

         “Sorry. I’m an old man compared to them. They can party til the sun comes up.” He said to their fans, yawning and stretching his arms to the ceiling. He glanced at the comments, reading them swiftly as they appeared.

_You’re so adorable when you sleep._

**_Restin up for when you take that ass?_ **

**Eww Pervert.**

_I loved Equilibrium, Jackson!”_

           “Thanks, @Jerica_evar. I had a lot fun making it. I’m tryna think about something to tell you while he’s gone.” He tapped his finger against his chin, wracking his brain for something juicy. “I have a secret if you promise not to spoil it before it happens. Do you promise? Do you.”  He shot them a dry, serious face. “I’m serious. If someone ruins it, we’re going to shun you forever.” One after the other, they typed various promises to him. “Ok. Next month, at that yacht restaurant we never went to, I’m proposing.” He couldn’t help the goofy grin sliding over his face.

_No way!_

**_EEEK. Holy shit!!!_ **

**So** **cute**!!

_Marriage ruins everything bro. don’t do it._

**_Extra excited for you two._ **

          “Yeah. I told him I’d be shooting in Thailand for my next movie that day but really, we wrap a week before. Gonna surprise him good. Anyway, that’s my secret. I’m serious about the shunning. Maybe, I’ll upload his reaction video for you guys. He’s going to flip out. I bet he’ll like punch me or something.”

          The door swung open; Stiles fell into the room with a glossy-eyed Isaac behind him. Oh god. “Why am I punching you?” He asked, falling over the back of the couch. Jackson, holding in a mischievous smile, shrugged. Thankfully, the comments drifted to other topics, pushing away their marriage topic. Isaac fucked around with the computer for a few seconds, his fingers ripping across the keyboard. “What did you guys talk about why I was gone?”

         “How much we hate you.” 

         “Really? Aww. I love you guys too.”

         “Ugh, you two are insufferable. Keep it down in here.” Isaac, sour because his flavor of the week dumped him, flicked them in the ear and stormed out the room. The door slammed into place with a crash.

         Always needing to get the last word, Stiles bellowed after him. “Can’t make any promises, asshole! In other news, Isaac needs someone to make him whole again. Just a head’s up if that’s you. We’re actually only gonna do two more of your questions cause we have to wake up in like five hours. Brussels, here we come baby.” He clicked a few buttons and a face popped into existence alongside him and Stiles. The guy, probably around 19 or 20, gasped once he realized he shared the screen with them. A smile that stopped just before his eyes lit up his face. He stuttered for words, mouth agape like an overwhelmed guinea pig.

         “Uhhh…hi. I’m Elijah.” He finally managed, his cheeks turning red.

         “Hey Elijah. I love your Star Wars mural, dude. So sick.” Stiles shifted closer for a better look. He marveled at the poster that covered his entire back wall. “We have to get one for the house.” He tossed back at him. “So, what’s up Eli? Can I call you Eli? Is that weird?” The guy chuckled, giving Stiles permission to call him anything he wanted. “Awesome, Eli. What question do you have for us on this fine…early morning?”

         “I was wondering how you came out and if you have any advice. I haven’t done it yet and I want to for my boyfriend but my family is…yeah.” That explains the sorrow hidden behind his cheery mask. The lighthearted mood plummeted, leaving him and Stiles sitting there with furrowed eyebrows. His mind immediately drifted back to the night where he told his own parents, the disappointment on their faces and the still uncomfortable phone conversations.  

         “Mostly, my dad was supportive when I told him. Then again, I told him three years after I left home while I was on another continent. I woke up one day and I felt comfortable sharing that part of myself with him. So, as silly as it sounds, it really depends on when _you’re_ ready. Yeah, your parents matter, but it’s your life. Not theirs. Don’t feel pressured that you have to do it before you’re comfortable with yourself, you know? Like, when you’re at a good point in your life, it’ll just feel right. At least, it was for me. Not everyone has the same experience.”

         “Yeah, I agree with that. I told my parents while I was dealing with a lot of… self-image issues. So, I thought ‘what’s one more thing.’ It wasn’t as if our relationship could get any worse. They already cut me off for choosing a “clown’s career” over my lacrosse scholarship to Princeton. I’ll let you imagine how bad it was and how I spiraled after that. I would have handled it better if I was at a better place-” He paused to keep the swarm of emotions at bay. His relationship with his parents is something they still don’t discuss. Discreetly, he felt Stiles’ feathered scratches over his back with the arm resting behind him on the couch. He pushed back against it, allowing it to soothe him. Stiles picked up the question, knowing he needed a moment.

         “Seriously, though.” Stiles cleared his throat. “I guess my other advice is to remember that there’ll be an adjustment period after they accept you. When you bring your boyfriend home, it probably won’t be all casual conversation the first time. If it is, I am so jealous of you. For us, it was forks clanking on plates and tense shoulders. I promise it gets better as time progresses. Now, I can drop by my dad’s house and see Jack’s just chilling on the couch with a beer. We’re not really experts or anything. I mean, we’re barely older than you, just turned 26 so, we’re all kinda learning together. But I hope that helps.”

         “Yeah. It does. Thanks.” Eli’s smile held less weight as he waved to the camera. Eventually, his face disappeared in favor of another one. This time, a group of girls beamed at them. In their pajamas, they squealed on a large bed.

         “Hiiiii!!!” They called in a shrill unison, giving his ears a work out. He and Stiles waved at the camera, doing their best not to cringe at their screaming enthusiasm at three in the morning. “Ok. So… we have two questions but they’re quick. We promise.”

         “The floor is all yours.” Stiles, nicer than him, beamed at the camera as he gestured for them to commence.

        “We want to know ‘what love song best describes your relationship?”

        Stiles groaned, as if their question pained him. “Shame on you guys. You can’t ask a music person to pick just one song. I’ll let you choose.” He poked him in the stomach, until he accepted the inevitable.

        “I can only think of one and you’re gonna hate me for saying it. Maroon 5, Sunday Mornings.” With his fierce hatred for Maroon 5, he thought Stiles might banish him from the conversation or worse, their relationship.

       “Actually, I can see that. Yeah, I agree with him; Sunday Mornings is perfect.”

       “Awww, that’s too cute.” The ringleader squealed again. All the girls around her bobbled their heads in complete agreement. “Ok. Our last questions is ‘What specifically makes you think about each other when you’re not together?”

       “Oh my god. I love that question. Four for you Glen Coco. I really hope you’re not too young to understand that reference.” Stiles hopped on the seat cushion, while they giggled under his spell. “He _loves_ Strawberry Fanta so, if I see it in a store or restaurant, I always smile like an idiot. Personally, I think it taste like syrupy cold medicine (no offense babe).” He smacked a quick, dry kiss on his cheek. “But, I’ll drink it sometimes, if we’ve been apart for a longer than usual. Boom. Top that.”

        “Should I even try?” He tried to wipe away the soft grin contorting his face. Stiles wiggled his eyebrows as he waited for his answer. “Ugh, I don’t even know. When I put on that Burt’s Bees stuff you use, it feels like I’m kissing you.” Stiles’s smile swiped off his face the second he spoke.

        “Wow. Ok. Thank you so much for chilling with us. Jacks will be around for a while so if you want any more challenges or tags, let us know. If we talked to you or answered your question, look for message from us tomorrow. We love you. Byeee!” He didn’t even bother disconnecting the twitcam. They waved as Stiles’s laptop screen descended further down until it sealed shut with the bottom. Raising his hand, he counted down from five. When his pointer finger joined the others in a loose fist, Stiles straddled him, pushing him until his back meld with the couch. “I can’t take how perfect you are right now.” They licked into each other's mouth lazily, too drained to do much else. Jackson sighed, finally they get to shed all the bullshit personas and be themselves. No more, Stiles's the goofy, powerhouse DJ. Or, _the_ Jackson Whittemore. In this room, they were just Stiles and Jackson, enemies turned friends turned lovers.  "I'm proud of you, by the way." Stiles muttered against his lips, when breathing became necessary. He finished his statement before Jackson question. "Talking about your parents and stuff. It was brave.” His arms tensed around Stiles's waist. "We don't have to talk about it. I'm just saying. It was cool." Stiles pressed their heads together. "We should buy him like a self-help book. Not like a cheesy one but one with a lot of good reviews and a bad ass cover."  

         "Ok. Stiles." He chuckled, kissing his temple. "Sounds good." 

         “You ready for that shower?” 

         “Morning? Unless, you want to me to pass out in the middle of it." He will too. It's a miracle his eyes are open now. 

         “Come on, daddy. Let’s get you to bed.” Stiles laughed, dragging him across the spotless white carpet over to his king sized bed. Together, they stripped away the millions of pillows and the top comforter. His eyes raked over Stiles’s body as he pealed away today’s clothes. Since they last saw one another, Stiles lost some weight. He frowned, knowing how stressful touring season was on him. Spending his nights in arenas and every other moment producing his label’s music. Jackson bet too many red bulls and not enough food passed through his lips. He’d have to watch him for however long he toured with them. “Stop it.” He said through gritted teeth, already knowing where his mind drifted off too. “I’ve been eating, fine.”

         “Like I believe that.” Jackson deadpanned, sliding under the covers. “We’ll get McCall to cook breakfast before we leave.” He pulled Stiles to him when he tried to form a pillow barrier between them like a giant baby. Stiles scoffed, shifting around in his arms until he found a comfortable position. Once his head laid on Jackson’s breastbone, he dimmed the lights with the dimmer on the wall above their heads. Silence reigned over the room. Even, the everlasting party dulled the beats to a hushed thump. The scent of sweat, alcohol, and weed from tonight’s show mingled with fabric softener as he and Stiles breathed in the solitude. Their rhythmic breathing almost lulled him to sleep when Stiles’s whisper drifted through the air.

Hey. I love you.” He said, tilting his head into his neck and pressing a lingering kiss there.

         “Love you too, Stiles.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I loved this one. haha. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> FYI: A full blown fic inspired by this chapter is in the works. You guys are the greatest.


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